Monday, October 22, 2012

Title: "He was commonplace in complexion, in features, in manners, and in voice. He was of middle size and of ordinary build. His eyes, of the usual blue, were perhaps remarkably cold, and he certainly could make his glance fall on one as trenchant and heavy as an axe. But even at these times the rest of his person seemed to disclaim the intention. Otherwise there was only an indefinable, faint expression of his lips, something stealthy -- a smile -- not a smile -- I remember it, but I can't explain. It was unconscious, this smile was, though just after he had said something it got intensified for an instant. It came at the end of his speeches like a seal applied on the words to make the meaning of the commonest phrase appear absolutely inscrutable."

Friday, October 19, 2012

Title: "One of them, a stout, excitable chap with black moustaches, informed me with great volubility and many digressions, as soon as I told him who I was, that my steamer was at the bottom of the river."

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Title: "Can't say I saw any road or any upkeep, unless the body of a middle-aged negro, with a bullet-hole in the forehead, upon which I absolutely stumbled three miles farther on, may be considered as a permanent improvement."

Thanks to good friends Diane Chonette of Tin House Books, Andy Bennett, Tom Williams, and especially Carlette Jewell, each of whom helped me out a great deal with the digital side of things, the hand-drawn and hand-assembled full cover for Robert Kloss' book The Alligators of Abraham is complete. I'm really quite proud of it, and it turned out exactly as I had imagined.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

One of the first creative opportunities to come my way once my book Moby-Dick in Pictures had been released was the chance to create the cover for Robert Kloss' phenomenal Civil War novel The Alligators of Abraham. I wasn't sure what to expect when asked to do this, so I agreed before even reading the work. After reading it though, I was certain I had made the right decision and that in a sense my path lay directly through this novel. To be blunt, the book blew my head apart. It is honestly one of the most visceral, powerful, visionary, lacerating, gut-wrenching fever dreams I have ever experienced. Some stories claim to offer hope, or joy, or a glimpse into the lives of others. Not this one. The Alligators of Abraham offers blood and smoke and slime and war and hate and violence and lust and greed and murder, but more so than any of those, it offers the reader Knowledge. It is that important. Creating the cover was an honor, and I was so gripped by what I had read that I offered to create three interior illustrations to lead off each of the three sections. Here is my cover, along with the three interior pieces.

And all of this work is finally bearing fruit. First you can, and should, pre-order the book from Mud Luscious Press at that link. Second, the savage "scorched earth literature" magazine Sundog Lit has started posting a series of texts and other works inspired by The Alligators of Abrahamright here. First up is a reading of a portion of the text with an accompanying video by Sean Kilpatrick. I will have a few additional pieces of art, this time reactions to and explorations of the text, in early November on that same page. I will post a link here when they go up.

Finally, there is an excellent book trailer video using incredible images from the Civil War set to a suitably grim song. It's on that page but I am including it here because it does a perfect job setting the scene for the novel.

Monday, October 15, 2012

Title: "When near the buildings I met a white man, in such an unexpected elegance of get-up that in the first moment I took him for a sort of vision. I saw a high starched collar, white cuffs, a light alpaca jacket, snowy trousers, a clean necktie, and varnished boots. No hat. Hair parted, brushed, oiled, under a green-lined parasol held in a big white hand. He was amazing, and had a penholder behind his ear."

Friday, October 12, 2012

Title: "They were dying slowly -- it was very clear. They were not enemies, they were not criminals, they were nothing earthly now -- nothing but black shadows of disease and starvation, lying confusedly in the greenish gloom."

Thursday, October 11, 2012

Title: "Behind this raw matter one of the reclaimed, the product of the new forces at work, strolled despondently, carrying a rifle by its middle. He had a uniform jacket with one button off, and seeing a white man on the path, hoisted his weapon to his shoulder with alacrity. This was simple prudence, white men being so much alike at a distance that he could not tell who I might be. He was speedily reassured, and with a large, white, rascally grin, and a glance at his charge, seemed to take me into partnership in his exalted trust. After all, I also was a part of the great cause of these high and just proceedings."

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Title: "A slight clinking behind me made me turn my head. Six black men advanced in a file, toiling up the path. They walked erect and slow, balancing small baskets full of earth on their heads, and the clink kept time with their footsteps. Black rags were wound round their loins, and the short ends behind waggled to and fro like tails. I could see every rib, the joints of their limbs were like knots in a rope; each had an iron collar on his neck, and all were connected together with a chain whose bights swung between them, rhythmically clinking."

Title: "I had my passage on a little sea-going steamer. Her captain was a Swede, and knowing me for a seaman, invited me on the bridge. He was a young man, lean, fair, and morose, with lanky hair and a shuffling gait."

Title: "Once, I remember, we came upon a man-of-war anchored off the coast. There wasn't even a shed there, and she was shelling the bush. It appears the French had one of their wars going on thereabouts. Her ensign dropped limp like a rag; the muzzles of the long six-inch guns stuck out all over the low hull; the greasy, slimy swell swung her up lazily and let her down, swaying her thin masts. In the empty immensity of earth, sky, and water, there she was, incomprehensible, firing into a continent. Pop, would go one of the six-inch guns; a small flame would dart and vanish, a little white smoke would disappear, a tiny projectile would give a feeble screech -- and nothing happened. Nothing could happen."